Dip your brush in crimson letters,
Add a dab of red-gold blush,
Paint a landscape of upsetters,
Those who need a soul to crush.

Those of hollow form of flesh
Those whose soul has left 'n fled
As they seek out weak to thresh
Till last drop of blood has bled

Here a sphere o' fire setting
'Midst a blood-hued sky,
There the haunting silhouetting
Tree with branches high.

Grasping, scratching air ephemeral,
Swaying to the sounds of death,
Knocking at the gates empyreal,
Clutching at pure babies' breath.

The dead not-living swarm like dusk
Crushing sweetest sprout
Winnowing ripe corn from husk
Winnowing the life-force out

Hear the hunted sheep begetting
Howl and wail and cry,
Watch the darting bats bloodletting
As Lord Life slips by.

Covered by dark guise of nature,
Everlasting bides his time
Safe as no nomenclature
Can guess his pantomime